


Wicked Mors

by YuunaFiction



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, But this is pretty Wicked, Comedy, Gen, Humor, I didn't plan for this, To treacle tart or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuunaFiction/pseuds/YuunaFiction
Summary: After a long life, all Harry Potter wanted was to die. It's just too bad that Death doesn't care what Harry Potter wants.





	Wicked Mors

**Author's Note:**

> A shout-out to Jezzkaa91 for beta'ing this little thing of mine. *giggles*

Harry Potter closed his eyes, his breath raspy and shallow as he felt himself grow ever colder. Death, he noted, wasn't so bad. In fact, he welcomed it. He was tired of living, despite having had a relatively decent life. That is if he didn't count his youth which was a clusterfuck of epic proportions.  

At the ripe age of one-hundred-and-seventy-six, Harry was more than ready to die. Frankly, he just wanted to be done with it. It wouldn't hurt, he knew, because he'd technically died once before and if he could recall it correctly, then it was like falling asleep. Only easier. 

On his deathbed, Harry allowed himself to reflect on his life. He remembered the cupboard under the stairs and the hunger that used to gnaw at his bones. It wasn't a very pleasant memory, he decided. But it wasn't the worst one he had. Oh no, that was reserved to Moldywart. If there was one thing in life that he'd never regretted doing; it was killing that creature. Riddle could hardly be called a man after what he'd become.  

But enough about the Baldtart.  

Harry Potter was dying and he wasn't going to waste his final moments in life to think about Wobblewart and his lack of a nose.  

No, he was going to think about all the people who'd be waiting for him once he finally kicked the bucket. Honestly, he couldn't wait. He may be old but he still dreamt of hugging his mother and father for the first time. It didn't seem more than fair to finally get the opportunity after everything he'd had to endure. Hopefully, they wouldn't mind his long beard. He wasn't exactly 'young' anymore. It was a distant concept he'd suppressed for the most part. His youth had  _ sucked _ . Being an adult had given him freedom and the power to control his own life. Something which he'd been unable to do until the war was over.

Even then it was hard. He was famous, and he always would be. While he appreciated all the help he got from his friends once the war was over, he couldn't help but feel rather irritated over the fact that they never allowed him to stand on his own two feet until well into his mid-twenties. _ Apparently _ , he couldn't take care of himself, but he had most certainly been old enough to face the worst Dark Lord in history. Never mind the fact that he'd died on top of it all. Merlin forbid if he wanted to live alone after graduation. Then again, Wizards and Witches weren't known for their logic. Unfortunately. 

It was the last twenty odd years of his life that had been the most peaceful, he found. Though, he'd refrained from saying so aloud. It wasn't very nice to do so. Especially since Ron died twenty-one years ago. He loved his friends dearly, but it wasn't until after they were all gone that a small weight had lifted from his shoulders. Like a confining pressure of his lungs that he wasn't aware of existed until it was gone.

When they all died; he felt free. 

Naturally, he mourned them but he knew he'd see them again in a few years and that eased the pain. After all, Death was only the next step on the Next Great Adventure.

 

* * *

 

It was with mild apprehension that Harry opened his eyes to see an eerily familiar train station. The last time he'd been there, Dumblebore and Mugglewart had kept him company for all but a few blinks of an eye before he'd been whisked back into his body and to war once more. 

Needless to say, he had a bad feeling about this. 

Harry looked around himself, stark naked as he was, and decently pleased with the fact that there was no draft in the area. Maybe the afterlife didn't have winds?

_ "I've been waiting for you, Master." _ A dark shadow slowly formed in front of the shocked and newly deceased Harry Potter. He instinctively took a step back, alarmed and automatically reaching for a wand he didn't have. Well, not the  _ right _ kind of wand at least. Inwardly he cursed, but resigned himself to the fact that he was already dead, so what was the worst thing that could happen?

"Who are you?" He took another step backwards, just to be sure. 

The large shadow formed a silhouette of a being not quite human. It was tall, seven feet at least, and thinner than the average man should ever be. There was nothing but shadow and a voice of power and profound depths, which also helped solidify Harry's belief that this being was not a mortal of any kind. 

_ "Mortals have given me many names during the many ages they've wandered the plains of the mortal world. You may call me Mors, Master." _

_Death_. Harry swallowed a phantom rock that'd lodged itself in his throat,  "I take it, Mors, that you don't make it your personal business to meet and greet everyone that dies and passes on, do you?"  

_ "You have not passed on, Master. You never will. You are my Master, and the Master of me cannot die, just as I. You collected my Hallows in your first life and solidified our bond as you died and returned to your mortal shell instead of passing on, thus signing the contract of Life and Death. We are one." _

If Harry wasn't already dead, he probably would have received a stroke. Although, judging by Mors' words, it wouldn't have mattered either way.

"I'm the Master of Death because I collected the Hallows when I was young." He slowly repeated, making sure he'd heard everything correctly. "So when I died the first time, I could either pass on or go back and become the Master of Death, correct?"

_ "Correct." _

"If I don't want to be the Master of Death and just pass on, how do I do that?" Frankly, the prospect of never dying sounded bloody horrible. He'd looked forward to dying.  

_ "You cannot."  _ Mors didn't move, and its voice didn't change. It was monotone and deep, without care or emotion. Mors was nothing but a void. Death.  _ "The contract of Life and Death will last until the End." _

Dread filled Harry's heart, "The End is very far away, isn't it?" He asked softly.

_ "To the End." _

Not very helpful, but clear enough to get the point across. "What happens now?" If he couldn't get out of the contract he'd signed unknowingly, then there wasn't much he could do but accept the fact that he was thoroughly screwed for all eternity. There was no longer a shadow of a doubt that Fate used him as its personal punching bag. Honestly, it was getting pretty old at this point. 

_ "Now you choose. Will you remain here; in the in-between to the End or will you return to the mortal world once more?" _

Harry blinked slowly.  _ Remain stark naked in a train station for all Eternity... or go back to being able to eat treacle tart every Sunday? _ Resigned, he sighed. It wasn't much of a choice really. "I want to go back to the mortal world. It would get pretty boring in here after a while, I think."

_ "Where do you wish to be placed, Master?" _

"Placed?" He echoed and looked up at Mors, confusion morphing his brows into a frown.

_ "You may choose where to start your life." _

Suddenly,  a burst of  _ hope _ and  _ energy _ and  _ excitement _ coursed through his veins at the prospect of choosing  _ when _ to live. Where did he want to go? Could he go anywhere? 

"I have questions." Harry blurted, unable to stop himself as he took a step forward.

_ "Ask." _

"Can I pick whatever year I want?" He asked slowly, hesitantly.

_ "Yes."  _ If Mors was irritated by the questions, it didn't show it. Could Death even feel irritation?

"Will I be old again? Or will I pick an age to start with?  Will I have a normal lifespan and then die and come back here? What happens if I die and I don't want to leave that life?" Harry had taken another step forward, his green eyes sparkling with renewed life. He felt young again. Hopeful. 

_"You may pick your age and stop ageing when you desire. You are immortal and cannot permanently die. If you somehow die by means with or without your control, you will simply return or start somewhere else. It is your choice, Master."_  

The possibilities were endless. He could go all the way to the founders and meet them, kill himself and go somewhere else. Harry's emerald green eyes hardened and then he stared into the black void of shadow that was Mors, "Mors."  He said.

_ "Yes, Master?" _

"This is  _ wicked! _ "

_ "Wicked."   _ Mors echoed, whether it be of agreement or not didn't seem to matter.

Though perhaps Harry was imagining it, but he could have sworn there was a hint of amusement in Mors' voice.

**Author's Note:**

> Wicked! *wiggles eyebrows*


End file.
